Your Stories: Dyspraxia – Conditional Publications

Dyspraxia: don’t wait for the opportunity – MAKE the opportunity

Vrinda Pendred — Sat, 08 Nov 2014 16:41:20 +0000

Dyspraxia: don’t wait for the opportunity – MAKE the opportunity

My name is Lewis. I am 19 years old and I live in the United Kingdom. Ever since I can remember, I have struggled with very basic tasks in life. It took me years to be able to tie my shoe laces, write words correctly, ride a bike, swim and much more. I would be lying if I said I haven’t been sad, angry or frustrated because of this.

Throughout my school years, I was laughed at on several occasions for dragging my lunch bag along the floor (didn’t even realise I was doing it!), tripping over my own feet, and walking into things. People would refer to me as ‘Dopey’ and for a while this was actually a nickname of mine, one I unfortunately had no choice but to accept.

I failed most of my exams, struggled to pay attention in class, and regularly infuriated teaches due to the fact I was struggling to understand what they were trying to tell me. In all honesty, I have never been particularly good at many things in my life – but by no means am I useless. I just don’t excel in anything, apart from – and this may come as a surprise – football.

Having being diagnosed with Dyspraxia as early as first school, I will always remember being told I was unlikely to be able to participate in sports due to my fine motor skills not being as good as others’. As it turns out, that statement couldn’t be further from the truth. Around 12 years on, I’m playing football for a County West Sussex football team, which I am being paid for doing.

Needless to say, I must admit when I first starting playing, I wasn’t great. In fact, I was dreadful. I was put in the Goalkeeper position (they felt sorry for me, and didn’t trust me outfield) but I couldn’t even catch a ball. I would lose concentration and forget where the goal was. I was beyond bad.

The point is, I really wanted to progress in something I enjoyed doing and no matter how many other kids laughed at me, I was determined to be better and succeed. I practised every day, studied the game, watched countless games on TV and worked myself very hard. I have now leapfrogged ahead of them in terms of development and potential. I have learned that in life, you have obstacles placed in front of you that you simply have to overcome. If I didn’t have football in my life, I am not sure where I would be.

Is there something you wish you could be good at? Or something you have always wanted to try but were scared what other people would say/think? Go out there and try it Sure, you may fail at first. But remember, Rome wasn’t build in a day. With hard work, dedication and a bit of time, I promise you will see gradual improvements every day and feel better about yourself.

You may be Dyspraxic, but I guarantee you have a hidden talent that you are wasting away. Don’t wait for the opportunity – make the opportunity.

Thank you so much for sharing that, Lewis! It was one of the most inspiring stories we’ve read in a long time, and I think it’s a message that could apply to anyone, Dyspraxic or not.

Vrinda Pendred, Founder of Conditional Publications

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‘Who Knows What the Future Holds?’ – A story by Lee Haynes

Vrinda Pendred — Thu, 04 Jul 2013 10:29:41 +0000

‘Who Knows What the Future Holds?’

by Lee Haynes

When I was a toddler, I had a serious head injury. I first had anxiety when I was about six or seven years old. I remember chewing my way through my jumper sleeves like I was frantically gnawing through bark.

My earliest memory of being depressed is when I was twelve years old. The world just seemed distant and dark. I knew I didn’t see things the way a normal twelve-year-old should. By the time I was fifteen, I was taking anti-depressants.

I was a shy teenager who spent most of my time in the music room at school. Music was a way of dealing with my feelings and moods.

“A little touch of chaos and danger makes a city sexy.” –David Byrne

As a nineteen-year-old student, for the first eighteen months of my time in London this was certainly true. The wild parties, heavy drinking and promiscuous lifestyle were a way of escaping the dark underlying depression that would come and go as it pleased. I was mugged twice when walking home, but even that didn’t stop me. I didn’t want the party to stop; there were too many good times to be had and no one could keep up. I wanted to push the limits, go harder and faster.

On top of that, I was riding the creative waves. Sometimes I had so many ideas I couldn’t record them quickly enough, or they just fizzled out. There would be times I couldn’t even physically play a note; my fingers just wouldn’t move, and my mind and hands were refusing to communicate.

Then three months short of my twenty-first birthday, I had a crash. The party was over. I was at home for the end of term break, and I became convinced my house was haunted. I couldn’t even stay in my house. I was referred to a specialist and he advised to take time off university. My place was held, so I could re-start when the new university year began.

It was during this time I was diagnosed with Dyspraxia by an educational psychologist. I had no idea what it was or meant, but I was given a detailed report full of jargon. I went back to university, only this time I commuted every day. I struggled to complete university. I tried desperately to stay on the straight and narrow, but it was the same old story. I had to do whatever I could to bury the despairing depression that plagued my mind. On my reference, it even says I could have got a 1st if I had been able to deal with my mental health, and that my grade didn’t reflect my ability.

Upon graduation, I was offered a job teaching music. I was naughty and didn’t declare my mental health struggles. I also didn’t disclose my Dyspraxia. I assumed my job offer would be revoked if they found out. I did eventually disclose both to a very understanding and supportive boss. Then one day, I decided to quit a perfectly good job without even thinking what I was going to do next. Like a misguided muse, it just seemed like the next part of an adventure.

I was lucky and found another teaching job. By now, I had pretty much tried every anti-depressant there was. None of them worked, and some made me virtually psychotic. The final anti-depressant brand I took succeeded in pushing me into psychosis. Within ten years, I had my second psychotic break and I plunged into a dark depression. Strange to think I actually don’t remember most of it. But one thing was certain: my ten-year career as a teacher was over. I lost my job.

I was referred to a specialist again and I was diagnosed with Bipolar Affective Disorder. I was put on Depakote, which I take to this day. It has been three years since I was diagnosed and even now I am learning how to manage it and what my triggers are. You are advised by clinicians to try to monitor your moods. However, anyone with Bipolar or any other mental health condition will know the severity comes and goes as it pleases. I can have a good day and then, for no reason at all, have a bad day. It’s like the British weather, forever changing and entirely unpredictable.

In terms of my creativity, I haven’t recorded a new CD in nearly four years and I have about 200 pieces of unfinished music, in varying degrees of pleasantry to the ear. Sometimes a session in the studio will work and a few hours will fly by; other times, five minutes of frustration later, it’s best to call it a day. I guess the Depakote is best described as a flat liner for me. I still get the swings, but not as severe. I miss the highs and the mania that came with them, but I don’t miss the outcome of it. The hardest thing is that it stifles the creativity at times, but I know without it there are consequences.

I have been asked if I am bitter about what happened. I simply answer: I already have a companion, my Bipolar. If you invite bitterness along, and it will just create a perfect storm. These days, I am interested in Special Educational Needs in Schools, I do temporary work, and I am trying to work out what to do next. Who knows what the future holds? I am still finding my feet and learning new things about myself.

To quote my favourite phrase: “Out of order comes accuracy; out of chaos, truth.” –Pierre le R du Toit

A Note from the Editor:

This, again, is an altogether too commonly heard story. As someone who has been diagnosed myself, I have also tried a slew of anti-depressants. Interestingly, even though they’re meant to treat anxiety and depression, the side effects include…anxiety and suicidal ideation. It is also widely reported that they quell creativity / passion, and this happened to me. But I also wanted to comment that I, too, developed psychosis through being on an SSRI for several years. It was later determined that I have bipolar disorder, but this was never screened / diagnosed previously. I have since read that people with these sorts of conditions should not be put on such drugs, because psychotic episodes are a very frequent ‘side effect’ in such cases.

Thank you very much for sharing your story, and I wish you all the best in life. Also, if you ever do put any music out, even if it is simply self-released, do let us know and we would be happy to mention it to our readers.

Dyspraxia and ADHD…with a Masters Degree

Vrinda Pendred — Thu, 26 Jul 2012 17:27:21 +0000

A Personal Story by Lisa

I have lifelong dyspraxia and a Masters Degree too. I think I was born to be an extrovert, but finally became an introvert due to all the hostility I have suffered from others due to my Dyspraxia and my ADHD traits. I don’t like people to watch me doing anything, so I stay away from them. I could never learn to ride a bike, to sew, to knit. I still confuse my left and right at age 41.

Funny thing: I went to a writers’ conference and pitched my novel to a publisher and an agent who happened to be there. They said I could send them the work (easier to say that than reject me to my face, right?) so I sent it to them. What is funny to me is that I also sent the work to four other publishers. Well, three out of those four publishers offered me a contract on my novel! But the people I actually met and pitched to rejected it. I can’t help but feel meeting them in person actually influenced them to reject me, when three out of four publishers who hadn’t met me wanted my book!

It seems that my dyspraxia is always that obvious and annoying to people I meet. That’s why I now just stay home with my family and write, instead of knocking my head against a brick wall trying to be accepted. I’m 41, so it’s taken me a long time to face this. The fact that others can hold down a job at all is amazing to me. I found that employers rarely accepted my disabilities and were always “letting me go”, despite me being capable in so many other ways.

Confessions from My Early 30s – A Dyspraxia Story

Vrinda Pendred — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 01:26:59 +0000

‘Confessions from My Early Thirties’

by Maria Tumnus

I was working in an office for three years and I couldn’t hide anymore. They left me alone for a while, as I came from a different culture (Romania), my English wasn’t that good at the beginning and I didn’t want to speak with grammatical mistakes. I thought they appreciated my discreet personality and respected my non-interference in other people’s businesses. But as my English improved, I started to understand more and more, and one of their favourite topics was… me.

“She sits at her desk all day; she’s so desperate to impress”, “She’s so rude!”, “She should show more respect”, “She is clever but she thinks she’s superior to everybody” were just a sample of the characterizations I got on a daily basis. Why do they think all those things? What am I doing wrong? I wondered. I told them from the very beginning that I was shy, introverted and un-sociable. So why after three years were they still surprised?

When I had a conversation with my boss, I explained that this was the way I was, I didn’t have anything with anyone. I apologized for my “odd” behaviour, explaining that it wasn’t intentional and I wasn’t even aware of it. Because I wasn’t confident with my English, I was still struggling to have a spontaneous conversation. Also, I didn’t watch TV and as I was only interested in arts, literature and anthropology, I didn’t know what to talk about. Half of their subjects didn’t make any sense to me. I didn’t think I was superior. On the contrary, I knew my conversation topics were so limited that I preferred to be at my desk working than in an awaked social situation where I would stay quiet while thinking of something else.

Also,with as I was so preoccupied with trying to speak correctly, I imagined my sentences in my head and revised them to make sure they would come out perfectly, which was why my answers were delayed. As the communication process involved some steps – translating in my head what people were telling me, coming up with an answer, translating it back into English, proof-reading it – it was simply too much for me to process ,so I preferred to avoid interactions altogether. While people were waiting for a reply or a reaction from me, I was failing to deliver it in time. They labelled me as awkward and unapproachable. My mind was set up in work mode and there wasn’t any room for small talk. I also wanted to enjoy the seven-and-a-half hours and a half I spent there, because to me, enjoying work meant understanding what I was doing and improving my performance every day. I didn’t want to impress anyone but myself that I could do it.

As I described myself to my boss, thinking this was only a cultural difference, I didn’t realize I was describing a possible Autistic trait. People’s judgemental attitudes didn’t stop until I resigned and my zero confidence brought me to a chair in front of a counsellor. When she asked me to think about my childhood, I was a bit angry. Why do psychologists think all your problems start in the childhood? Is she going to apply the Freudian theory on me now? I thought sceptically. I only wanted her to tell me how to behave because obviously something was wrong and I didn’t know what. Why were people so offended that I didn’t talk about non-work-related topics, I didn’t socialize and I didn’t respond to their humour? Why did they pity me for being alone when my oneliness was a matter of personal preference? Why did they feel the need to judge me all the time and make fun of me behind my back? And ultimately, why didn’t I have those needs that people called “normal”?

As I was thinking about my childhood, I realized that I have always been a loner. Being clumsy and physically slow as a child, I always struggled to fit in and therefore started to do things I really enjoyed, like painting and reading. I was fine with my own company. Other children used to tease and make fun of me and I never knew how to respond or why they felt the need to do that. Some teachers used to say I was lazy and I didn’t meet my full potential. I used to get punished for my short-term memory problem, as I used to forget simple things that my peers didn’t. Half the time I thought I was sent from another planet and I had no idea what to do to assimilate people’s costumes which didn’t have any logic to me. I was struggling to keep up.

Paradoxically, except for PE classes, I did quite well in school. I was the best in my class at grammar, at 17 I was awarded my first international poetry prize and I always had strong arguments in philosophical debates. After a while I managed to surpass all those difficulties and I metamorphosised in a confident young woman, able to do everything I put my mind to: complete a degree and a Masters, publish books and enjoy life with its unexpected events.

When the psychologist said of I had Dyspraxia and explained briefly what it was, everything made sense to me. The counsellor was right: people’s problems DO start in childhood. I went home and I looked it up on the Internet and finally understood why I couldn’t learn to swim, to ride a bike and to catch a ball, why I have this right and left confusion, why my reactions are delayed regardless the language I speak, and the list could continue with other difficulties I had and still have. I wish I knew before, as my life would have been much easier.

Yet I managed for 33 years, and I think I can manage from now on too.

I just want to tell people that I am completely harmless and I genuinely believe that if we all love ourselves as we are, there would be no envy or negative feelings regarding other people’s differences and lives. If Dyspraxia made me creative and good with words, or it gave me the capacity to see behind appearances without judging and the foolishness to give up everything to follow my dreams, then I am happy I have it. They call it the hidden handicap, but I call it an extraordinary gift.